#perfectparents

I just want to give a big shout out to all the mamas who have helped my snarky Facebook comment go viral. Who knew that admission of moderately adequate parenting could yield such unifying results?
As of Friday all I knew was that some lady named Maria C Mason had shared a screen shot of my comment to a HuffPost Parents article about C-sections vs. Vaginal birth.

 



I often browse Facebook at night in search of controversial articles. I find feeding the trolls to be therapeutic. It's like feeding the birds at the park. They're kind of stupid and take the bait easily.

But this particular post had me wondering why on earth anyone cares what did or did not come out of my vagina. We as mothers can do everything by the book and still get our asses handed to us. I basically just put that into a sputter of sentences, and the comments came rolling in. But it wasn't hate or discord. It was just moms saying "Omg yes! My life is a shit storm sometimes. Thanks for admitting yours is too."

I've gotten so much feedback since Maria sent my comment on to viral stardom. And 99.9% has been totally positive. Faith in humanity restored.

But for those few darling lambs who don't speak sarcasm, I will translate a few tidbits from my post.

First let's clear up what I meant by "exclusively breastfed" because I know there was some concern from a few mothers that I was putting my toddlers on a liquid diet trying to help them get swole. The term "exclusively breastfed" is about as fluid as "sleeping through the night." Some think sleeping through the night means a child lies down before the sun sets and rises only after it appears once again in the sky. Others think it means getting 4 straight hours at any point during the day.

But for me exclusively breastfeeding means that for two plus years each, my nurslings had no milk other than my own. It doesn't mean I was restricting my 18 month old to nothing but boob juice. I introduced "real" food to each of my kids around 6 months. With my first it was a mish mash of pureed fruits and veggies. With my second it was chunks of whatever was in the fridge. It is what it is. Different strokes for different folks. But don't FREAK out ladies. They did in fact have more than my milkshake during those two years of boobies.

Next let's revisit "sleeping." If your child does this, that's cool. Mine don't. Well let me rephrase. They do, but they're amateurs. My youngest was the magical child I could leave in her crib when she was sleepy, and she would drift blissfully off to sleep for several hours until I came in and nursed her. I'd put her back and she'd give me another stretch. This was until my husband got a new job that moved us so quick we didn't have time to find housing and we found ourselves living in a "rustic" camper while we house hunted. We couldn't very well leave our 10 month old to roll off the couch, especially because that's where the 3-year-old was "sleeping." So she was in bed with me until we moved into our new house several months later.

Well wouldn't you know it. This child, when given the chance to snuggle up next to the source of her favorite midnight snack, decided that sleeping next to the milk bar was what she'd been missing her whole life. So we've been working to gradually wean her back to her own quarters. Especially since she's off the boob juice now. One year sober this June.

Don't get me started on sleep with Sunshine, my oldest. Sunshine is what we call Karma's Sweet Sweet Revenge. You see before I was a parent, I had a doctorate in all things child related. One of my areas of expertise was co-sleeping, also known as "The thing I'd never do." So when Sunshine was only a day old, and SCREAMING bloody murder in the hospital any time I laid her in the bassinet I asked for some Arby's sauce to dip my words in. I pulled a Lady and the Tramp right then and pulled her into my bed "just for tonight."

When we brought her home, my husband "did me a favor" and took her to her crib once she'd nursed. She was fed. She was dry. She was snuggled and swaddled. There was no need for fussing. She needed to "learn" to self soothe. At 4 days old. That seemed sketchy even in my sleep deprived post partum head. Luckily my mom had the sense to pick up my crying newborn and gently tell us to fck off.

Oh we tried "sleep training" later. That was adorable. I especially loved the part where Sunshine would cry so hard she would vomit in her crib. Even with the suggested intervals of shushing and reassurance. Basically those intervals equated to me being an ass hole and going in her room to let my infant know "Yes yes dear. Mommy knows you're sad and afraid. I just came in here to rub it in that I know how to walk and talk and can leave this lonely place any time I like...which is now. Bye Felicia."

Pair that with the fact that she had mad reflux and serious tummy pain from an undiagnosed dairy allergy (which I was told was just me being a first time mommy). That was pure child abuse. Fast forward 5 years to the day I find out my Sunshine also has Sensory Processing Disorder.

Which brings me to my favorite bit. The eating.

Yes. I know that whole fruits and vegetables that are locally sourced and organically raised are the optimal food for my child. (I should go ahead and admit that my post was a bit of false advertising because Sweet Pea loves fruits and veggies. But I'd already listed all my other accolades so I was trying to make a point without continuing my list of accomplishments.)

I also realize that some parents go with the "eat what I give you or starve" mantra. And that's totally fine. If that works for them and their child I am 100 percent happy with that.

However, something to understand about sensory processing kids (and really even kids just labeled as picky eaters) is that you can physically force a food down their throat, but that ain't no guarantee it won't come back up. Ask my OT friends. Chessa, Lora...amiright? My little Sunshine was desperate to find foods that weren't "yucky". She would bravely stick broccoli in her mouth and pretend to like it until her gag reflex betrayed her and she lost every bit of food in her stomach on my rug.

So instead of the "eat it bitch" approach, we opted for another. We serve her a small portion of whatever we're eating. And YES Sanctimommies I do try to model good eating habits. (But if you haven't enjoyed the food porn that is a Choco Taco, then you ain't livin'.) However, she is not bribed, coerced or forced into eating anything AT ALL. She is offered what we have. If she wants to try it, she is positively encouraged. If she wants to spit it out, that is perfectly fine. If she wants to roll it around in her fingers and smush it into her plate. Fine. That's why we have napkins.

If someone tried to force you to eat fish heads and crocodile butt holes you'd be pretty offended. And truth be told that must be close to what broccoli tastes like to my Sunshine because she has literally barfed her guts just from willingly trying one piece.

If after we've all finished our food, she still can't stomach what we served then she does have a set menu of items I will then fix for her. Sorry. I'm not letting her starve. There's something of value in chicken nuggets and fish sticks I'm sure of it. She hasn't wasted away yet, so I'm guessing it's ok to run with it for a season.

And it's taken a few years, but our Sunshine is slowly but surely adding items to her menu. She's even got a few fruits and veggies in her tool box that she actually enjoys eating. So don't take my post about Pringles and boogers so seriously. It was mainly to prove a point that no matter what you do as a parent you're going to get thrown some curveballs that you have to decide how to deal with. Those are your battles, and yours alone. No one else can fight them for you, so you do you.

In the end we're all playing the same game, we just get dealt different cards.

Which leads me to my last clarification. I know that my original post said to just love them and keep them alive. That's really our basic job. HOWEVER that is not to say that if your child doesn't make it out alive that you've failed. The fact is that none of us make it out alive. Your job as a parent is to first love the shit out of them, and second do your best to keep them alive.

I'm no stranger to loss. I've not only failed at keeping my twins alive, but I've failed at keeping my surro bean alive as well. But I did number one like a boss. I loved the hell out of those kids for as long as I had them. And that's really all I meant. Keeping them alive just means meet their basic needs to the best of your ability. Losing a child is so awful and gut wrenching that I wrongly assumed people knew I wouldn't throw a jab at any parent who has EVER lost a child. But in case I wasn't clear let me lay this out.

If you lose a child you have not failed. You got dealt a card that no one can deal with, and quite frankly there's no damn rhyme or reason to it. You have my utmost respect for even getting out of bed in the morning. And I'm so sorry for any pain that part of my comment may have caused. I think people who are missing an actual piece of their physical heart can deal with life better than I could if I lost the two babies I have left. So unless you straight Andrea Yates-ed your child, YOU DID NOT FAIL.

My real point is that if you do number one and just love those babies with all you have, then all your parenting choices will come from a place of love.

And THAT is how you become the perfect parent for YOUR child.

#toddlerfitnessgoals

Am I the only one who can't trust a 3-year-old? Sweet Pea was saying she wanted to be a strong boy. Naturally my bra caught fire and I'm like well why don't you be a strong girl? And she's like "no like lots of muscles!" 

So I google pics of lady body builders and she's like whoa ok. Then she's like ok now let me see strong boys. So I google "muscle guys". And she grabs my phone and runs. 

 When I catch up to her I grab the phone and she has somehow pinned this image to my "get in my belly" Pinterest board. 

#helookeddelicious

#death

A few years ago we lost our dear poodle, Cuddles. Sunshine was only 2, and many people told us she'd never even remember the dog. However, 3 years later she still talks sweetly about her as if she died only a few days ago. 

Many times the loss of a pet is the first experience with death that a child is exposed to. They grasp at the concept of death and its permanence. They question the fragility of life and sometimes ask questions like "well when will you die?" And "if I get sick will I die?"  

Parents struggle to look through their own grief and help answer these questions while comforting and ensuring that their child has a healthy place to grieve. 

Today I shared with Sunshine the sad news that one of her best friend's cat passed away. She knew and remembered the kitty. She's a cat person after all. So she cried a little for poor Loretta, then she asked to send a care package to her friend. 

Inside was a boo boo bunny she made. To help her friend's heart feel better. 

Two Twizzlers, which I think is the childhood equivalent of wine. 

And a solid piece of heartfelt advice. 

Because as much as we need a shoulder to cry on. We also need that one friend who will bring food and solutions. 

#todayilaughed

Sweet Pea has a new favorite game. 

You haven't lived until you've played rock, paper, scissors, shoe. Shoe has a laser beam. 

Doing homework with Sunshine

Me: draw three things Native Americans used

Sunshine traces her hand. 

Sunshine: they used their hands for digging

Me: what else?

Sunshine draws the American flag. 

I giggle. 

Sunshine: what? They flew the Native American flag. 

Sweet Pea: I gonna spell Grammy. 

O L D. Grammy. 

#mcchauvanism

*steps up on feminist soapbox*

*sets fire to oppressive under garments*

Ehem

Dear McDonald's

I realize that the mere fact I'm choosing to nourish my child with your "food" probably negates the following rant. But nonetheless...

When ordering a Happy Meal, why do you need to know the gender of my child? Instead ask me if my child would like to grow up to be a grotesque slutty Barbie or an engineer. 

Ask me if she'd rather choose a letter and number to figure out her Monster Slut name (the results of which don't even make sense. 4+D=Claw-Elle? Really?)

Or would she rather play with a Hex Bug robot, test her knowledge and exercise her brain a bit with a cryptic message that uses math principles in the decoding process?

I thought by answering "girl" you might follow up with "monster slut or science nerd?" But apparently according to McDonalds, girl=monster slut. Girl doesn't equal boy. No way. No how. Your employee almost seemed offended when I said "she's a girl but wants the hex bug." 

"Oh so your daughter wants the boy's toy?" He replied confused. 

I was just happy she was too busy telling her sister about her favorite part of the Lego Movie to hear that comment. 

For the record McD's, my little girl's uterus doesn't stop her from being the official class bug catcher. She actually really digs science and tries not to let that surplus of X chromosomes get in the way too much. 

Thanks for asking questions though. The one about apples or Gogurt was a good one. She stuck to her gender and chose the apple. Hopefully she doesn't give it to a boy at school and doom her kind for all eternity. 

Sincerely 

Mother of two future Monster Hoochies

#snacktime

As we're lying in bed reading the Oriental Trading Company mag that my child chose as a bedtime story, we come across suckers that look like used Qtips. 

This isn't all that odd since it's the Halloween edition. 

What is odd is when Sunshine casually says "yeah I ate someone's ear wax once. It was gross."

After I composed myself I asked whose earwax she was sampling. She tells me "I don't know his name. I was just hungry."

My daughter ladies and gentlemen. 

#candyland

I suffered a completely unexpected emotional breakdown the week my Sunshine started kindergarten. If you asked her kinder was just kind of crummy. The school was too big, the days were too long, and she missed her mommy and sister during the day.


If you asked me she was missing out on the magic and happiness of what is supposed to be one of the best years of her life. She was having anxiety attacks and being forced into a neat little public school box that I was desperate to free her from. My usually spunky girl was solemn and downtrodden as she marched into the gymnasium. My little ray of Sunshine who used to beg to go to preschool on days she had violent stomach bugs was now vehemently against walking through those kinder doors. There's a very lovely alternative down the road at her old preschool. They love children. They do amazing but age-appropriate things with children. But most of all they understand children.


I was three minutes from the doors of her elementary school to withdraw her when my husband told me to slow my roll. I couldn't just pull her out of public school because of one bad week. I hadn't even given it the old college try. Public school is the answer in his eyes. And he kindly informed me that it was high time our 5-year-old grew up. Really? At 5. Now we've decided they need to "grow up" at 5? I almost barfed up my bagel.


She needs to face adversity, he said. She needs to realize that there are rules in the world. She's not always going to have fun. She's not always going to like her teacher. There are good times and there are bad. She needs to learn this because after all she's 5. She needs to grow up. She needs to learn.


I cried a lot that day. I cried for my child who was feeling scared. I cried for the things I knew she was missing out on. I cried for the jealousy I felt as I saw my friends post pictures of their elated children who were going to the little kinder down the road. I cried for the picture my daughter drew of her first day of school of the blue sad face with tears. I cried and cried.


Once it was time to pick her up from the institution, I had no more tears. Just a desperate feeling of mommy guilt and confusion. I felt torn between what I should do. Between what was best for my child. I wanted her to be happy and enjoy kindergarten, but maybe Hubs was right. Maybe she does need to face a little disappointment. Maybe she needs to learn to play by the rules a little more.


I asked how her day went, but her face said it all. I didn't want to talk about it anymore, and neither did she. We headed home in silence.


When we walked in the door I fixed her a snack and asked if she wanted to read or play a game. She lit up and asked if we could play Candyland. I'm a sucker for some Hasbro, so we grabbed a spot on the rug and shuffled the cards.


We quickly refreshed our memories on the rules. Pretty simple. Draw the card, move the spaces, don't land in the licorice pit and get to King Kandy's Castle.


Sweet Pea wanted to "play" too, but about halfway through the game we realized she was only interested in the orange cards because "Owange is my fave-itt." Sunshine tried to guide her by drawing her cards or moving her pieces for her, but it was futile. She'd skip ahead three green spaces instead of two, and when she drew Grandma Gooey's card she decided she'd rather go back to the Duke of Swirl.


It was funny to see Sunshine get a little frustrated and then finally give an exasperated sigh. She realized that sometimes not everyone plays by the rules, but it's ok. All you can do is worry about yourself. You can try and help them, but if they're not willing to help themselves you have to leave them in the licorice pit and move on.


We were both hanging out in the Gumdrop Mountains when I drew the card leading me directly to Princess Frostine. She's only a hop skip away from King Kandy's Castle, so without a big plunge back to Lord Licorice or the likes, it looked like my victory was sealed.


Sunshine's face was indignant. I could see in her eyes how unfair she felt this situation was. But she surprised me. Instead of an outburst or a cry of injustice, she simply took a deep breath and said "I don't care! That's fine! I might still win."


She didn't win. I spanked her in about two turns. But she held out hope, and I could not have been prouder. It wasn't over until I crossed that sugary bridge. That kid knows perseverance.


I celebrated my victory without rubbing it in, because I wanted to demonstrate sportsmanship. Plus this is the kid that reaaaaalllly really hates to lose. But again, to my surprise, she didn't huff and puff at her loss. Instead she quietly said "Congratulations."


I hugged her and thanked her for being such a great sport. I told her I know it is tough to lose, but it's even tougher to lose gracefully. I was mega impressed.


Then I taught her one more thing. I quickly scooped up the cards, gave them a good shuffle and reset the game pieces. My victory was short-lived, but so was her loss. Just as quick as I won, she took me to the cleaners with a Grandma Gooey Hail Mary draw. That second game may have been the quickest ever played, and she came out on top. After a wicked happy dance she kindly told me that we could play again and maybe I could win next time.


In life she is going to face adversity. She is going to have to learn the rules. She'll see that sometimes other people don't play by the rules. Sometimes other people get all the glory, or they get the promotion, or they win the soccer game. But throwing her into a stressful situation is not the age-appropriate way to teach her to "deal" with these life lessons. She doesn't need to grow up.


She needs Candyland.


She is 5. Candyland taught her all she needs to know right now about life. Worry about your own gingerbread man. Keep hoping for that Princess Frostine, but celebrate those double purple draws too. And when life sticks you in the licorice pit, just keep your head up. There's always next game.